Home
by isaytoodlepip
Summary: HPSS SLASH. After his seventh year, Harry is asked to stay with Severus Snape for the summer. With all that they will have to give up in the war, can they afford to risk their hearts?


**A/N**:  SLASH warning.  This is HP/SS.  GOF spoilers too.  Harry and co. belong to JK Rowling.  Also, the premise of this fic is a relatively common one.  After 7th year, Harry spends his summer with Snape for security reasons, planning to return to live at Hogwarts during the year.  So, sorry if this is a tad unoriginal.  Consider it an homage to a legacy of hp/ss fan fiction. Hope you enjoy!

There are some that have said one can never go home again, by which they meant, or so Severus Snape assumed, that once an individual has moved away from his childhood home in an attempt, no matter how successful, to assert his independence, that individual can never return to find the same security, the same happiness, or even the same _family_ that once lived there.  Severus was of he mind that the child who had lived in the Edwardian manor he was raised in had, in some significant and slightly painful way, effectively died the moment he left for Hogwarts aged eleven.  Every holiday, Severus would return to that house that held most of his memories, and he'd feel less and less at home.  Finally, upon his completion of an Hogwarts education, he left that place, finding decent rooms in Yorkshire.

            Of course, the war changed everything.  Severus once felt that "home" was an abstract, something a man carried within himself, but he never realized how vulnerable a place that could be.  His Yorkshire flat was painted with the blood of innocents and demons alike under the dominion of Voldemort, the potions Severus brewed for the greater glory of the Dark Lord staining the walls with every possibility for death that they offered.  When Severus turned to Hogwarts and Albus Dumbledore for sanctuary, he found that the school was tainted by both his sins and his sense of obligation to make amends.  And then his parents died, leaving Severus a family home with no family to fill it, not even him.  He went there once, to the Northumberland estate, but its beauty was so cold, so inhuman and sterile, that he'd taken his holidays abroad from then on.

            Until this business with Harry Potter.

@@@

            Severus Snape rowed until his shoulders ached and his arms felt weighed down by the heaviest of cauldrons, then pulled the oars into the boat and lit a cigarette.  Even from his position on the far shore of the lake on his property, he could still see the manor house clearly, it's cream exterior shining against the greens and slate of the earth, and the mottled blues and whites of the sky.  Severus braced himself and the boat, anchoring his feet against the inside walls, as he took another drag on the cigarette.  This was all he knew of hedonistic pleasure these days, this unobserved exile, this conscious rebellion against good health.  Poppy would kill him when he returned to Hogwarts and underwent his yearly physical exam, and it was the prospect of that blustering anger which Severus enjoyed, more than the taste of rot in his mouth.  Poppy could go to hell, for all he cared.  _She_ was summering in Florence, abandoning the sick bed for, well, abandon.  Only last year, Severus had been living his Halcyon days in Greece, sampling wines, studying the architecture of the ancients, and testing the delights of casual sex.  But now, he was _trapped_.  Here.  In the middle of a boring lake.  Near a house that was a mockery of nostalgia.  And, in three hours, with a boy that represented everything Severus had lost, and everything he was willing to die for.  What _fun_.

            When he'd had enough of being maudlin, Severus used his wand to propel the boat back to shore and secure it to the dock.  He looked down to survey his appearance.  He looked as if he'd been run over by a grindylow, to be honest.  He'd abandoned his multi-purpose black robes for something cooler, loose slacks and a white shirt of light fabric, which was now soaked with both sweat and lake water.  Simply wouldn't do to receive The Boy Who Lived in such a bedraggled state, Severus mused.  He stalked across the vast lawns of his "home", forgetting for the moment that there was no one there to intimidate.  He had dismissed the few house elves his parents had kept to see them through their senescence.  Both his mother and father had died young, by wizarding standards, and it was that hope of an early death that Severus clang to on his worst days.  These included nights when he'd bowed at Voldemort's feet, Monday mornings, and this day, while he waited to greet Harry Potter into his house.

            It wasn't fair.  Potter and his contemporaries had just left Hogwarts and by all rights, Severus should not be expected to have any further dealings with the obnoxiously resilient boy, except for the few times when they were both called to a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.  But Dumbledore insisted that Potter room with another Order member, for protection, and seeing as how Severus had blown his cover last February while saving Hermione Granger's _virtue_, the Headmaster saw it as particularly convenient to lock away the two men on the top of Voldemort's Most Wanted list.

            Ah, the rewards of being _heroic_.

            Severus changed into some clean clothes, not bothering to sustain his image by donning his customary black just so Potter could have some sense of stability, and returned downstairs to survey his larder.  There was enough food to last them the week, assuming Potter did not have the same gluttonous appetite that Weasley did, and then Severus could go to town for more rations.  They were by no means under house arrest, being formidable wizards with a certain knowledge of defensive spells, but the Death Eaters _did_ have some idea of where Snape's family home was located, and neither he nor Potter were eager to find a Secret Keeper, with good reason.  So, apart from a few sporadic visits to town for the necessities and the few times when he would be needed at an Order meeting, Severus would be stuck with the whelp for the entire summer, until both of them returned to the safety of Hogwarts, or until the wretched war was over and Voldemort finally dead.

            An hour later, Severus heard it.  The Knock.  He could hardly wait.

            "Is there anywhere forbidden?" Harry asked.  He'd come to Snape's straight from the Burrow, where he'd recuperated from the stress of the N.E.W.T.s and awaited the results with Ron and Hermione.  As expected, Hermione scored perfectly, and her nagging had meant that both Ron and Harry had come away from Hogwarts with passable scores.  Not that it mattered much, these days.  All three of them were fated to follow a path that was paved for them for years.  Ron was going to begin training to be an Auror in a few weeks.  Hermione was going to spend her summer with her parents before returning to Hogwarts in the fall as the youngest professor of History the school had ever seen, Binns having finally found peace, or realized that he was, in accordance with all he'd been told, well and truly dead.  And Harry, he was going to do what he'd meant to do nearly seventeen years ago.  He was going to kill Voldemort, or die trying.  But first, he had to live through a summer with Snape.

            Severus snorted at the boy's question.  _What does he think this is, Beauty and the Beast?_  "No, there is nowhere forbidden.  I'd prefer you not go into my rooms, which are upstairs, to the right, third door on the right.  Other than that, you have free reign of the house.  I'd give you a tour if it weren't self-explanatory.  There is a kitchen, several bedrooms, several bathrooms.  There is a lab for potions on the ground floor, along with empty servants' quarters.  Outside, in the back of the house, is a lake.  There are a few boats docked there, which you can use.  We're several miles from anyone else, so you can fly if you'd like.  The trees provide ample cover when discretion is used.  I'm sure Dumbledore has expressed to you his wishes that neither of us go into town for long, or alone?  That is all I can think to say.  You can choose any room you wish.  I haven't been here in quite some time, but the house elves kept the place up while they were here and left some strong preserving spells on most parts of the house.  I'm not particular about eating times, but when I cook for myself, I'll make enough for the both of us.  If you're interested, that is.  You could always…heat things up, on your own," Severus concluded.  He'd delivered his welcome without a hint of either hostility or hospitality, and he was rewarded by a not-so-subtle slack-jawed astonishment from Potter.  _Quite amusing_.

            "Thanks," Harry responded lamely, shocked at how accommodating Snape was being.  If this had been _his_ house, and he'd been asked to put up with Snape for the whole summer, Harry wasn't so sure that he'd be so…

            But then Severus sneered and stalked off, and Harry stopped thinking of himself as the lesser man.

            It was another week before Harry saw Snape again.  After finding a suitable room on the first floor, one with a queen-sized bed, an antique oak desk, and warm colors on the walls, he'd practically barricaded himself there, emerging at odd hours to find the kitchens and heat up the left-overs of Snape's well-prepared meals.  Sometimes, at night, he'd roamed the halls, peaking in the many rooms.  He'd found a library with a decent selection of Quidditch books, but they hadn't caught his interest as they had when he was younger.  These days, Harry was just as likely to read some esoteric Transfiguration text.  Being entrenched in a war for the past three years had made him grow up fast.

            It was a Tuesday morning when Harry finally crossed paths with Snape.  Severus had spent the week reorganizing the stocks in his Potions lab. Most of the ingredients were still usable, but he'd have to pick up some new supplies in town if he wanted to get any of his planned experiments done.  He'd promised Dumbledore that he'd look into improved defensive potions, as well as the theory Granger had come across concerning tracking potions.  Severus had spent the morning searching the house for Potter so he could tell him of the trip to town, before finally finding him outside.

            "Your garden needs a little love," Harry greeted.  Severus Snape _definitely _was less-intimidating when wearing Muggle clothing.

            Severus looked at the brown patch of earth Potter was standing over.  The corpses of rose bushes _did_ look rather pathetic, considering his mother had once prided herself on her flowers.

            "No point, really," he answered.  "I'm never here.  I've been looking for you," Severus continued, turning his gaze back to Potter.  The boy looked tired, which was surprising considering the amount of time he'd spent in his room.  "We have to go into town for some supplies.  Food, potion ingredients, and whatever you may need.  Could you be ready in ten minutes?"

            "I'm ready right now," Harry answered eagerly, wanting more than anything, now that it had been suggested, to get as far away from the house as possible.  The manor may have been beautiful, but Harry found its silence draining.

            "Fine.  I don't suppose you know how to drive?" Severus asked, frowning.  It had been years since his father's sedan had been driven and he doubted that it was in perfect working order, but it should be able to get them both into town, presuming one of them could operate the bloody thing.

            "Uh, no," Harry stammered.

            "No?  Weren't you raised by Muggles?" Severus asked.  

            "They weren't exactly the 'spending time with me and teaching me how to be a man' type," Harry answered, snorting in residual anger of a childhood robbed by an uncaring family.

            "Well, I suppose I could try, but that might be testing your Gryffindor bravery," Severus smirked.  "Care to press your luck?"

            "I'm game if you are," Harry answered, following Snape to the garage.  "We can't apparate?"

            "No, I haven't been there in far too long.  It's a mainly Muggle village, with a few wizards and witches who sell magical goods from their homes, but who knows what may have changed in the past ten years."

            Amazingly, the car was in working order and actually had enough petrol to get them into town.   The ride went smoothly, apart from a misjudgment on which pedal was gas and which brake.  The town itself was pleasant enough.  Severus alerted Potter to the points of interest, such as the bookshop, Maggie Trumble's home, from which she sold a variety of novelties, and the market where they would be shopping for food.

            "And where do we have to go for your ingredients?" Harry asked him.

            "I have an acquaintance here, Phineas, who should have what I need buried somewhere in his storerooms," Snape answered.  "You don't _have_ to come with me.  Ms. Trumble's place is across the street from Phin's and I could introduce you, leave you there to look around."

            Harry wasn't sure how comfortable he'd be with that, and told Snape so.  They went together to see Phineas Welsh, who turned out to be an amiable old wizard with a house full of nearly every magical plant and a specimen or two of every magical creature Harry had ever heard of.  Snape chatted politely with the gentleman before picking up what he'd come for and saying goodbye.  He then led Harry to the market place.

            "I'll meet you out front in twenty minutes," he told Harry, before sweeping off into the store.  

            Harry was at a bit of a loss, having never shopped for himself in his life.  Half of him wanted to run after Snape and ask him for proper instructions.  Or at least to ask how much food he should buy.  But Harry just walked up and down the aisles, picking up a few things that looked appetizing enough.  Fresh pasta, produce, a couple of salmon steaks, enough for Snape should he be interested.  As he reached the bakery section, he saw Snape, talking to a rather enthusiastic woman.  Harry would have called her beautiful, with her sculpted features and long red hair, had he not been attacked by an unexpected and unwelcome urge to pull Snape away from her.  Not that the Potions master looked to be enjoying himself.  Snape's eyes were focused on the loaf of bread he had picked out of a basket, and his smile was meant to be polite but, in Harry's opinion, fell short of the mark.  Harry briefly envisioned swooping in to rescue the man, throwing a possessive arm over his shoulder, calling him "love" or "darling", maybe even kissing his cheek, or that long, smooth neck.  But Harry was so confused as to what his motives could possibly be that he was fairly certain Snape was bound to misinterpret them.  So Harry did nothing more than squeeze between them, saying, "Excuse me," as he reached for a box of croissants.  As he maneuvered himself out of the bakery section, he thought he saw Snape look at him with some meaning in his expression, but Harry left too quickly to take much notice.

            Ten minutes later, Harry met Snape back outside.  He'd added some wine, toiletries, and flower seeds to his list of purchases, and he was relieved to see that Snape had bought about the same amount as he.

            They waited until they were out of view from anyone before shrinking their bags, and then they walked back to the car and returned to the house.  They silently unpacked in the kitchen, surreptitiously glancing at what the other bought.  Snape's diet, as Harry had gathered from the past week, was based on ethnic foods.  Since Harry had come to the manor house, he'd been eating stuffed grape leaves, lamb, salads with feta, but also Provencal dishes, curries, and Italian cuisine.  This week, it appeared that Snape was in the mood for cream-based French dishes with béchamel, spicy Thai food, and at least one traditional British meal.  It made Harry reconsider his choices of basic pasta, bottled sauces, and skinless chicken breasts.  Obviously, he was no gastronome.

            "Are you planning on eating those?" Snape asked, distracting Harry from his train of thought.  

            Severus had just noticed the seeds Potter had bought.  Things must be more dull here than even he was aware.

            "Sea lavender, buttercups, oxeye daisy, tormentil, ling?" Severus asked.  "Are these Muggle delicacies?" he half-heartedly teased.

            "I liked the colors," Harry shrugged.  "And these flower in summer."

            "Some of these plants would do better in flatter country.  And the sea lavender prefers saline soils."

            "Worth a go," Harry answered.  "You don't mind, do you?  I've been cooped up inside far too long."

            "Hmm, yes, I had noticed.  That one there, the spear thistle, will bring butterflies if it turns out," Severus said, going back to storing his supply of strawberries in the refrigerator.

            "So it would be ok, if I worked on the garden?" Harry asked.  He hadn't thought that Snape would _prefer_ a bed of dead roses, but he realized that he should have asked sooner.

            "Feel free to try," Severus answered.  "We used to have good, fertile land here, before everything went to hell."  If Potter was confused by this statement, he didn't demand clarification.  "I believe there are tools in one of the storage sheds.  But before you get started, would you like me to fix you something for lunch?"

            Harry was surprised by this.  He'd assumed that he'd be expected to cook his own food from now on.  "Yes, please," he answered, settling himself onto an empty chair at the kitchen table.  "Are you…is there anything I can do to help?"

            "No," Snape answered, but the short answer carried no rudeness with it.

            Harry watched Snape prepare a light salad, made with some of the peppers and tomatoes Harry had picked out and covered with a vinaigrette of his own, and roasted Portabella mushroom sandwiches.  Snape's skill with potions transferred to his culinary prowess and the meal was delicious.  Harry, unused to three solid meals a day, despite years at Hogwarts, ate until he felt ready to burst, and then realized he was too sluggish to rush into manual labor.

            "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll wait a few hours before going out," Harry said.  Snape raised his eyebrow as if to ask, "And I should care _because_?", and Harry struggled to contain a giggle as he thanked the man for lunch and returned to his room to nap.

            Later that afternoon, Harry began creating his garden.  At the house on Privet Drive, Harry had often had to do lawn work, cutting the grass, killing off the weeds that constantly threatened to kill Petunia's roses, and the like, but he'd never actually helped anything _grow _and  he was eager to see if he would succeed.  It wasn't simply seeing Snape's dead roses that had inspired this feeling in him.  Ever since the Third Task in his fourth year, Harry had either been a witness or a party to death nearly every day.  If it wasn't actively defending himself and others from Death Eaters, it was dreaming about tortures at night.  The breaking point for Harry came just this past February.  It had been difficult for him until then, to say the least, living in a constant state of anxiety and violence, and so much pain.  But when Hermione had been captured from Hogsmeade, and held captive for nearly a week, Harry had dreamt of her every night.  He had seen the same monstrosities as always, Unforgivables, beatings, everything that Voldemort could think of to demean her, knowing that Harry was watching, and living through it all with the knowledge that his love was, in some part, responsible for this.  And then, it had come to the worst of it.  Harry could still see it, her face, white with terror, as they tied her down, stripped her once again, and played at fighting over who took her first.  Severus Snape won, when he broke through the crowd, grabbed onto Hermione's wrist, and apparated both of them out of there, but not before leaving a few parting shots that took down half a dozen Death Eaters.

            Harry shook his head, trying to clear the memories out of his mind.  It had been unbearable, and after Hermione was returned to him, he'd become more determined then ever to find something beautiful, to hold on to it and to never let go.  Professor Sprout had suggested gardening to him.  Harry had taken a lot of comfort from the matronly witch, who was light-hearted and friendly enough to Harry for him to find some intimacy with her that was easier to live with than the fierce, protective love that someone like Mrs. Weasley had for him.  Professor Sprout, worried that Harry had been distancing himself from people he cared about after Sirius's death, as if frightened he would break them, had advised Harry that some of her best friends were flowers.  _Low maintenance friends_, she had called them.  Well, Harry was about to see.

            He'd found rudimentary garden supplies in the shed near the garage.  He knew enough spells to make the turning of earth easier, less back-breaking, but decided that some physical exertion would do him good, and while flying around on his Firebolt would make him feel, and look, a little foolish, even immature, gardening was at least productive.  Harry set to work, and by sundown he'd ripped up all of the rose bushes, pulled out the weeds, and tilled the soil.  Deciding to leave it until morning, Harry walked towards the lake, wanting to see if the water was clear enough for him to swim in.  He'd been able to learn how to swim properly the summer before, when he stayed with Remus Lupin and Tonks at her Welsh cottage.

            Harry was surprised to see Severus Snape sitting in a row boat in the middle of the lake, smoking a cigarette and reading a small, leather-bound book.  If the professor had noticed Harry staring, he made no indication.  After leaning down and cupping water in his hands, Harry decided to continue with his plans.  Walking behind a tree on the water's edge, he removed his shoes, shirt and glasses, and quietly entered the water.  It was cold for summer, but his pants added warmth and, to Harry's chagrin, a certain amount of discomfort.  Still, he imagined that he'd be _more_ uncomfortable in the nude, especially in front of Severus Snape, who still hadn't noticed Harry's near-silent approach to the boat.

            "What are you reading?" Harry asked, no small amount of amusement in his voice at the slight jump he'd caused.

            "Merlin, Potter," Snape gasped.  He'd nearly upset the boat from the shock.  

            "It's curious that so many wizards use Merlin's name as a mild profanity," Harry mused.

            "Why?  Muggles frequently say "God" when they wish to express surprise, dismay, anger, pleasure – ,".

            "I get the point.  It's just interesting, is all.  And sorry if I scared you."

            "You didn't scare me," Severus frowned.  "You surprised me."

            "Well, it's frightening to know that you _can_ be surprised," Harry grinned.

            "Yes.  Some of us _are_ human," Severus answered.  Seeing the look on Potter's face, he continued in a less biting tone.  "Did you make any progress on the garden?"

            "Some," Harry answered, panting now from the effort to keep himself afloat.  "I'll be able to sow the seeds tomorrow."

            "Do you need to get in?" Severus asked, noticing Potter's struggle.

            "I'll capsize the boat," Harry answered.  Really, he wanted Snape to help him up and out of the water, but there was no way for him to keep a semblance of elegance if he were to flop around like a suffocating fish.  But Snape waved away his concern, grabbed Harry from under his arms, and neatly lifted him into the boat.  "Thanks," Harry mumbled, suddenly very conscious of his bare chest and his skin-hugging pants.

            "You're welcome," Severus answered.  After a few seconds of eternal silence, Severus offered Potter a cigarette.          

            "No, thanks," Harry answered.

            "Don't blame you, they are quite  disgusting," Severus answered.

            "Then why?"

            "We all have our self-destructive habits," Severus smirked.

            "Being a spy not enough for you?" Harry asked, but he regretted it immediately.

            "I'm not a spy anymore," Severus answered blankly.

            They were silent again, Severus contemplating his book, Harry contemplating Severus.

            "Do you regret it?" he finally asked.

            "Pardon?"

            "Blowing your cover?" Harry qualified.

            "I hardly had a choice," Severus answered.

            "Yes you did," Harry insisted.  "Though not an easy one."

            "I'd have preferred keeping up pretences for a few more months, or even hours.  But I do not regret saving Miss Granger," Severus answered.

            "Thank you," Harry answered.

            Severus could not find a suitable reply, so he set down his book and began rowing back to shore.

            They left each other alone until that evening, when they again shared a meal which Severus cooked: crepes with chicken, broccoli, and béchamel sauce, and too much white wine, as it turned out.  Harry hadn't had the chance to build up a tolerance to alcohol and now, on his third glass, he wasn't at the point of slurring but wasn't too far off.

            "You look nice like this," he smiled, sipping at his wine and giving Snape a once-over.

            "Like this?" Severus asked, smiling darkly.

            "Smiling.  And light.  Those robes you wear at school must wear _you_," Harry giggled at what he thought had been a clever remark.

            "Hmm."

            "Why is it that you don't come here often?" Harry pressed on, emboldened.  "It is a beautiful house, or would be if it weren't so empty."

            "It would still be empty, even with me here," Severus answered, offering Harry his dessert plate, a serving of crepes with pears, fudge sauce and vanilla ice cream.

            "Now why do you do that to yourself?" Harry demanded, but his anger was undermined by a rather obscene moan as he sampled his dessert.  Severus had the thought that Harry Potter in decadence was a pretty sight indeed.

            "Don't you find the place empty, even with the two of us here?" Severus asked.

            "Not at the moment," Harry grinned.  "How are your potions coming along?"

            "Well," Severus answered, surprised at the genuine interest on Harry's face, as well as the look in the young man's eyes.

            "Care to tell me what you're working on?" Harry continued.  He knew that if he did not swing this conversation towards a more intellectual, sober realm, he'd do something that he might regret come morning.

            "Nothing of interest.  Everything is going according to schedule."

            "You almost sound disappointed," Harry observed.

            "Not _disappointed_, but I had hoped for a challenge to occupy me these few months."

            "I could be a challenge," Harry answered, and immediately cringed inward.  There it was, the thing to regret: his mouth's tendency to secede from his brain.

            "Hmm."

            "Er, that is…we could play chess?" Harry finished lamely, his cheeks flaming from embarrassment now, rather than inebriation.

            He was surprised, therefore, at Severus's full, resonating laugh.  Harry waited for the man to calm down, sure that there was some belittling remark at the end of the professor's joy.

            "Are you a _virgin_ Harry?" was Severus's response.

            "_What?_" Harry spluttered.

            "It's only that you jump from flirtatious to blundering to mortified so _quickly_," Severus explained, smiling warmly, at least in relation to his customary expression of general disdain or hard-earned tolerance.

            "Well…I…" Harry floundered, wishing now he had drunk enough to just pass out.

            "Really?" Severus asked, surprised.  Harry, though he had gone through the customary gangly phase of male adolescence, had turned out to be a rather attractive young man, in his opinion.  He had a powerful stance, a maturity in his emerald gaze, and a softness to his features that inspired affection from both sexes.  He looked _innocent_, as if he had never been touched by all of the horrors he had seen, unless you got close enough to stare into his eyes and see the true strength that had been tested but never broken by evil.

            "I…I never really got around to it," Harry muttered.

            "Rather like learning to drive," Severus smirked, drawing an appealing blush to Harry's cheeks.

            "Yes, rather.  Um, this wine is making me…drowsy.  Thanks for the wonderful dinner, but I think I'll turn in," Harry finished, marginally proud of himself for not stammering.   Much.

            "Goodnight, Harry," Severus replied, his attention seemingly focused on pouring himself another glass.

            The days went on, the seeds were sown, and Harry found himself going mad for all his waiting.  Five times in the subsequent weeks, Severus was summoned to an Order meeting, alone, leaving Harry behind in a heavily warded study in the east wing, fuming in his admittedly childish way for being treated like a child.  When Severus came home these nights, he'd shared a drink with Harry but no information.  Harry could only assume that Dumbledore and Snape were still concerned about his ability to control himself in dreams, where his connection with Voldemort was still strong enough to send him screaming into the bathroom adjoining his suite, just in time to empty whatever delicacy Severus had prepared for dinner that night into the toilet.  Though Harry understood his role in this conflict, the need to keep himself safe until the moment of truth arrived, this rationale did not keep him from resenting the hell out of Albus Dumbledore for not including him in the meetings.  

            The seeds Harry had planted had just begun to sprout when Harry's resolve to grin and bear it dissolved and found him seeking out Severus's company.

            Severus was trying to distill his mugwort extract when the soft knock at the door to his lab caught his attention.  For a moment, he was about to as who it was, but then he remembered that his company was limited.

            "Yes?" he asked instead, in lieu of a proper greeting.  The smell of this potion was making him nauseous, which probably meant that he was on the right track.

            "Do you need any help?" Harry asked, slowly approaching the lab table.  

            "Do you need help flying a broom?" Severus retorted, not looking up from the cauldron he was busy stirring.

            "You can ride my broomstick any time, baby," Harry muttered, too tired to make his tease more effective by giving a convincing delivery or even a suggestive leer.

            "Charming," Severus deadpanned, adding valerian and pink fairy bile to the concoction.  "Weary from talking to the plants, Potter?"

            "Even pawns are allowed to witness the battle, Severus," Harry answered.  He didn't know how to play these games, at which Severus was so clearly an expert, but he was determined to do _something_.

            "I was given to understand that you saw more than enough carnage these days," Severus answered, quickly looking up from his work to stare pointedly at Harry's scar.  Returning his focus to the potion, he continued, "unless that isn't you making those retching sounds in the middle of the night."

            "You can hear that?" Harry asked, more angry than embarrassed.

            "The rumor has spread through the paintings," Severus explained.  He didn't bother to tell Harry that he'd put an end to such gossip days ago, for the sake of privacy and the very real worry about what the paintings could say about _him_ and some of the noises that came from his lips at night.

            "It doesn't matter.  Those things, I have no control over.  But if you and Dumbledore are putting your heads together, making plans involving me and murder, I'd appreciate being let into the loop," Harry said, trying in vain to keep the petulance from his voice.

            "Harry, you must understand that it's impossible," Severus answered, not an ounce of sympathy or empathy in his voice, even though he well knew what being a pawn truly meant.  "You know your part in this.  And, to tire out the metaphor, your scene is three Acts away.  You aren't prepared to kill him yet.  You don't have the knowledge or experience to be involved with the strategy for these preparations.  The day will soon come when you have your chance to play hero again.  Listen to your elders for once, will you?  Savor these relatively painless days while you can."

            Harry had listened to this lecture, honestly, in quiet.  There was nothing impassioned in Severus's tone, and he could not see the man's eyes, which were still turned towards the cauldron, but the potion master's grip on the knife he used to slice the raven heart had visibly tightened.  If the man was one for emotional displays that did not include hatred, indignation, annoyance and petty cruelty, Harry might have thought he was indifferent, but Severus looked like a well-wound coil.

            "I just can't abide this waiting.  Doing nothing.  And it won't change when the summer's over, will it?  We'll move back to Hogwarts, and I'll be allowed to help the students learn to fly or something mundane like that, maybe help Hermione grade papers, and that'll be it.  That's what Sirius went through, Severus, and he nearly went mad.  I won't do it."

            "You have no choice," Severus answered sharply, fearing that Harry was convincing himself that another foolhardy mission was required to settle his Gryffindor addiction to valor.

            "That much _has_ been made clear to me," Harry growled.  "I've never had a bloody choice about anything, have I?  I've been carrying this little death inside me since that fucking prophecy was made, and before that, who knows?  When I was younger, before I knew I was a wizard…I wasn't happy, but I thought I could _change_ that.  Change anything.  Get through the years with the Dursleys, find a job, move out, be my own person.  I knew that some things, some big important things, were written in stone.  Like the things we learned in science classes, about gravity and time.  But _my_ life, I thought, I don't know…maybe that it couldn't be so important that it was already written out.  And then I find out about you lot, and about _Wingardium Leviosa_ and time turners.  And prophecies.  Maybe it's not a law, what will happen when I meet Voldemort again.  I mean, one of us will kill the other, so there's chance.  But not bloody much."

            "And your point is?" Severus asked.  In truth, he'd had this conversation before, with Albus, only _he'd_ been the one espousing about free will and predestination.  "I don't see much use in complaining, or even contemplating, the nature of your fate, Harry.  Nor mine.  As I said, you have no choice."

            "But I do," Harry insisted.  "Let me _do_ something."  

            "Here.  Crush these juniper berries," Severus answered.  Harry hadn't known what would dull his restlessness, or salve his sudden bout with fatalism, but standing beside Severus, working with the mortar and pestle while listening to the too technical explanation of tracking potions, Harry was more than content.  

            Severus was in the boat again, on the lake, smoking, wondering where, or when, it had all gone to hell.  The past few weeks had gone smoothly.  If he were truly honest with himself, he'd have to grudgingly admit that he had enjoyed Harry's company.  They had established a comfortable routine.  They'd wake around eight, breakfast together, commenting on the newspaper headlines and, in Harry's case, the night's dreams.  Then they would separate, Harry going out to the garden or flying, Severus attending to Order business or his own experiments.  After lunch, they would both go to the lab and Harry would assist Severus in the preparation for the tracking and defensive potions.  They would keep at it until the late afternoon, when they would both return to their quarters to wash and rest, before meeting again in the library, where they would either read for leisure, play chess, or chat idly until dinner, drinks, and bed.  Yes, it was a comfortable situation, one of the most innocuous that Dumbledore had ever forced either of them into.  So, really, Severus should have known that it couldn't last.

            It had happened the night before.  Severus had allowed Harry to cook the meal, an adequate attempt at chicken parmesan, and he had indulged Harry with the light-hearted banter with sexual undertones that the young man seemed to so enjoy.  When Severus had first learned that the potential savior of the wizard world was a _virgin_, he had been surprised, amused even, but ultimately indifferent.  Nearly.  The subject would have been dropped completely if Harry hadn't persisted in deliberately setting himself up for teasing.  The young man would load terms such as "broom sticks," "wand", "bludgers" and such with so many connotations that Severus had been hard-pressed to ignore them.  So, seeing little harm in it, he'd played to Potter's interests, usually saying the exact thing that would make the boy blush and get back to work.  Until last night…

            "Try not to down this, Potter.  It's worth more than ten of those Firebolts you are so fond of," Severus had said, handing Harry a snifter of very fine aged scotch.

            "Then why on earth are you giving it to me?" Harry asked, sipping his drink, trying not to grimace at the beautiful holocaust it wreaked as it flowed down his throat.  "It's wonderful, but I wouldn't be able to compare it to many other drinks."

            "That's because it's incomparable.  And do you judge something's quality by measuring it against its peers?"

            "Doesn't everybody?" Harry asked.

            "Hmm."

            They were silent for a few minutes then, watching the fire.  Though it was in the heart of the summer, Snape's home often grew cold at night.  It was more comfortable than Severus cared to admit, sitting relatively close to Harry Potter, safe enough in who they were to go without hiding behind conversation.  And then Harry had to open his damned mouth.

            "Severus, do you mind if I ask you something personal?" 

            Severus found it ludicrous that Harry and he were on a first name basis, so why not get personal?  "Fine."

            "Have you forgiven Sirius, for what he did?"  Harry had been thinking about his godfather more and more these days.  Perhaps it was the close proximity of Sirius's former rival.  Perhaps it was the way Harry was beginning to feel about said rival.  

            "I fail to see how that concerns you, Potter," Severus answered.  He might not have been in such a foul mood at the mention of the Dog's name had he not been sitting there enjoying the way firelight played with those green eyes, the way the Harry licked his lips after every sip of what _he_ had given him, and the way that Harry's arm, draped along the sofa's back, lightly brushed against Severus's shoulders.  No, Severus was fairly certain that he could have stomached a conversation about Sirius Black had he not been half-hard for the man's godson at that exact moment.

            "It doesn't," Harry answered.  "I only wanted to know.  You seem to hold on to your hatred for so _long_.  Is that a Slytherin quality?"

            "Generally," Severus answered, determined to steer the conversation to the differences between Houses, or anything other than Black and the many regrets of the past that he called to mind.  "One of the recurring bedfellows of hate is the desire for revenge.  And ambitious as we are, we cling often cling to our grudges until we destroy our hate, or our hate destroys us."

            "That, I can believe.  Do you know, I was almost sorted to Slytherin?"

            "Yes, the Headmaster had told me.  I suppose it was the link with Voldemort?" Severus asked.

            "Maybe.  And the rule-breaking," Harry grinned.

            "Naturally," Severus mock-glared.

            "But more than that, I think the hat saw that I fight hard for what I want.  Even if it's completely wrong for me."

            And Severus felt Harry's hand deliberately move along the curve of his shoulder and softly insinuate its fingers in the hair which fell limply around Severus's collar.  The fingers were cold, but he didn't feel this was excuse enough for the damnable shiver that coursed through his arms.  He waited a few more seconds, weak from the feel of Harry's nails dragging across his scalp, before shrugging the boy off.

            "Isn't your life complicated enough?" he asked Harry, his voice deeper than he had ever heard it, a reflection, in his opinion, of how far he'd sunk.

            "Maybe, but not in the right ways," Harry answered, moving even closer against Severus, trying to come to rest thigh by thigh.  But Severus wouldn't allow it.

            "I refuse to become one more entry on the list of monsters you've had to fight, Potter," Severus had hissed, before walking away and locking himself in his room, a silencing charm keeping out the knocks and shouts that he imagined had followed him.

            And now, he was out on the lake, wondering what had possessed him.  And wondering what he meant by wondering.  Did he regret the way he'd acted that had conned Potter into thinking him a good man?  Did he regret the few seconds that he'd allowed the boy to touch him?  Or did he regret walking away?

            There were some splashes in the water.  Harry wasn't being as surreptitious this morning, and hating that there was now a need to be obvious, Severus pretended to be surprised when Harry grabbed onto the side of the boat.  So surprised that he drew his wand and stunned the boy.  And watched his frantic eyes as he sunk below the surface.  Severus gave it a moment before summoning the boy out of the water and into the boat.  Harry's eyes were closed, and even with the immobilizing spell removed, his chest did not appear to be moving.  Leaning in close, Severus could feel the lack of breath against his cheek.  And, knowing full well that he was being played, he damned himself and lowered his lips to Harry's.  And miracle of miracle, the young man sprang to life with such a ferocity that it stole Severus's breath.  Sitting there in the boat, being held by a cold, drenched, rapacious Harry Potter, made Severus certain that he never wanted to leave the angry heat of the boy's mouth, but that he did, making a show of wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

            "That was a cheap trick," he said, thankful that he was not really as breathless as he felt.

            "Yes.  One that you didn't fall for," Harry answered, licking his lips again, Severus noticed.

            "True."

            "I can't believe you petrified me," Harry pouted, while stripping himself of the t-shirt he had worn in a feeble attempt to beat back the water's morning chill.

            "Come now, Mr. Potter.  I'm sure you are well acquainted with my pettiness," Severus answered.  

            "True," Harry smirked.  But then he composed himself, at least as much as he could when presented with the sight of a well-kissed Severus Snape, the blush on his lips that _he_ had painted.  "Have you thought about what I said last night?"

            "Which part, exactly?" Severus asked meanly.

            "About…you know what about!  I know you couldn't have ignored me screaming at your door for an hour last night."

            "No, I doubt I could have, had I been aware of it.  But Silencing Charms have the curious habit of filtering out all unwanted _noise_."

            "Bugger," Harry hissed.

            "I don't think so," Severus countered.

            "Are you straight?"

            "Hardly."

            "Just not interested then?" Harry said.  It wasn't really a question, and that annoyed Severus more than anything.

            "Do you really see the world in such simple terms as that?" he snarled.  "Either I'm not interested, or else I am and I fuck you right here in this boat?"

            "Oh please," Harry snorted, reining in his impulse to blush at the imagery Severus had provided.  "I know this speech.  Death Eater bastard twice my age content in your misery too bitter and angry to notice that you're alone, and what about the prophecy and Voldemort and Dumbledore and my friends and the press and oh my God the _children, won't someone please think of the children_?  I don't care."

            "And I don't believe you," Severus answered, struggling, to his horror, not to laugh.

            "Why do you have to?" Harry challenged.  "It's not like I'm asking for more than a day.  And a night."  Harry wouldn't allow himself to mention the very real possibility that, with the way things stood for both of them, any long-term commitment would be forcibly torn asunder.  And he wouldn't allow himself to admit that the idea of only one night with Severus was almost more than he could bear.

            "I don't know you well enough to tell if that's a lie," Severus answered.

            "Well, that's a first," Harry chuckled.  "Severus Snape, admitting that he does **not** know everything."

            "Insulting me is not going to win you any points," Severus pointed out.

            "How many points will _this_ earn me?" Harry asked, casually brushing his hand over Severus's thigh, only for it to be smacked away.

            "What in our brief history together has lead you to believe that I'm at all appreciative of vulgarity?" Severus snapped.

            "Well _you _were the one to mention fucking in this boat," Harry pointed out, not the least daunted.

            "Get out."

            "What?!"

            "Get.  Out.  Out of the boat now, Mr. Potter, or I shall stun you again and throw you overboard," Severus said, raising his wand.

            "Fine, fine," Harry sighed, getting up slowly, trying to keep from capsizing the small vessel.  No matter how tempted he was to tip them over and leave behind a spluttering and spitting Severus Snape.  No sooner than he'd returned to the water did Severus pick up the oars and made his way back to the shore.  Harry watched his former Potions Master dock the boat, tie the lines, and stand to wait for him at the water's edge, arms crossed and eyes fixed in a glare that still intimidated him, for all his bravado.  He was frozen thru by the time he reached land, and was embarrassed by the squelchy sound his shorts made as he walked towards Severus, whose expression assured him that the conversation was not over.  Harry stopped in front of the man, looking down at his sand-covered feet as he tried to control his shoulders and arm from trembling before raising his head to meet Severus's stare.  The older man's eyes narrowed, darting quickly left to right and back again as if he were reading a text printed on the surface of Harry's eyes.  And just as quickly he hooked his index fingers in the waistband of Harry's shorts, pulled him closer in a rough jerk, undid the button and zip and took Harry in his hand, smirking when Harry hissed at the sudden and painful burn of warm hands meeting cold flesh.

            Severus's right hand kept with its relatively easy task while his left seized Harry's head, burying its fingers in the young man's hair, and pulled it closer, until Harry's forehead was resting against Severus's shoulder.  He could feel Harry breathing heavily and wetly into his chest, and that Harry had finally regained use of his arms, wrapping them beneath his own arms and curling them up to anchor painfully on his shoulder blades.  He continued stroking Harry, more gently then he'd thought himself capable of, as he lowered his chin to whisper into Harry's ear, "Do you really want me to be able to walk away from this?"

            Harry nearly sobbed at that point, but caught that noise in his throat and twisted it into a tortured, "No."  Then he opened his eyes, which had clamped shut in an irrational instinct to protect his soul, and, seeing a chink in Severus's armor, he fastened his mouth on the hollow of the man's throat, softly licking the sweat there before placing a kiss of mock-chastity.  "No," he repeated against Severus's skin.  He tried to imagine what it would be like, life after a one-night stand with Severus Snape.  It was difficult, and not just because his mind wanted to live in the action of Severus's hand caressing him.  All that came to Harry were images of meetings in Dumbledore's office, where Snape, who would have been reduced to "Snape" in that reality, would glare at him in silence or openly berate him.  And images of chance meetings in hallways, where Snape would ignore him.  And images of either of them dying in battle, and not caring enough to mourn or even say goodbye.

            "No," Harry sobbed.  "No, don't leave me."

            And Severus didn't _want_ to.  He'd discovered over the past weeks that loving Harry would remarkably easy.  Perhaps the easiest thing he'd ever do, save playing the part of a sadist for scores of Hogwarts' pupils.  But it was by no means painless, and part of that pain lay in the fear that none of it was real.  They had both lost much in this war.  They were both tired.  And, perhaps, they were both living on borrowed time.  All of these factors were potential ingredients for desperation, and though Severus normally had no moral qualms about brief affairs, conducting one with The Boy Who Lived would create more complications than any physical gratification would be worth.  Quite simply, Severus doubted both of their abilities to do their jobs if anger, regret, embarrassment, resentment, and so much _wanting_ was thrown into the mix.  He also couldn't imagine a real relationship surviving long in this atmosphere.  Not when Severus would have to…then what the _hell_ was he doing?

            "What is it you want Harry?" he hissed, stopping his ministrations.  "This staged domestic bliss?  Lovers' trysts, quick fucks in some abandon hallway, aided by that handy map of yours?  Hmm?  Dinners by candlelight, stilted conversations, passionate nights together, the both of us convinced that it is our last love so we best make it last?  What are you looking for?  Which scenario seems least impossible?"

            "Nothing is impossible," Harry whispered.

            "That's an incredibly naïve thing to say.  And here I thought you'd grown up."

            "I thought you had, too," Harry snapped.  "Look, I know this isn't the best of times to try to make something together, for us.  And the fact that it might be the _only_ time we have is just another reason why we should just step away, right now.  But…maybe, if having my heart broken is the worst that happens to me, it'll be worth it.  I don't want to be alone for this.  And, even if there's a chance that I _will_ be, whatever we decide to do, I'd still like to be with you.  It seems terrible to think of that day in the future, the one where we both survive the war but decide that we'd only been playing about caring for each other.  But as much as I hate myself for being the type of person to settle for that, for either of us, it still sounds a hell of a lot better than the alternative.  Of not being with you.  I don't exactly know what I'm doing here.  Not that it's news to you.  But here is what I do know.  I like spending time with you.  I've been happy, being here.  And you seem not to mind, me being here.  What I _want_, apart from just you, and just everything, is that we keep talking.  Keep taking meals together.  Keep working at being friends.  And for you to keep _touching_ me."

            So Severus did, and a few rough strokes had Harry coming and stifling his cry against Severus's throat.  Both were still and silent for a few moments, regaining their breath and composure.

            "That was easy," Harry rasped.  

            "Yes.  You just had to stand there and shut up," Severus replied.

            "I meant getting you to do what I want," Harry said.

            "Oddly enough, so did I."  Severus walked down to the water and rinsed of his hands, then returned to rearrange Harry and do up his shorts.  "What do you want to eat for lunch?"

            "You?" Harry giggled.

            "Vulgarity will get you everywhere."

            "I _knew_ it!" Harry laughed, grabbing hold of Severus's hand.

            "Let's go home," Severus muttered, distracted by Harry's hand in his.  "Rain's coming."

            Harry looked up at the cloudy sky.  It was nearly black to the north.  The rain would be good for the garden, but with so much blue sky in the east, he doubted it would last the day. 

"I think it'll clear up again soon," he said as they began walking back to the house.  

"Until it does, I'm afraid you'll be stuck with me for company," Severus answered.

"I can live with that."

"See that you do," Severus smiled.

**THE END**


End file.
